Shattered Veil

The air this morning was brutal, so much so that the thickest of furs couldn't keep out its bite. Dorian pulled at the scarf around his neck, the fabric not doing much to protect him from the weather. The world overhead was steel gray, the sun cloaked in the drubbing clouds. It felt like the heavens themselves were grieving what was to come.

The rest of the team trudged ahead of him in uneasy silence, their boots cracking against the frost everything they were stepping on. Joran the scout always going first and keeping his eye for danger. Lira trod close behind her, a medic's satchel slung over one shoulder, and Brynn brought up the rear, a great war axe strapped across his back.

They were a strange lot, but they were all Dorian had. And as much as he hated to admit it, he trusted them more than he trusted the council or even General Spears. The council viewed them as pawns, disposable figures in a larger chess match. But in here, downshore from Linxdon's suffocating walls, they were all on equal ground, tied to one another by a single thread of survival that was only ever the same color.

In the distance, a storm massed -- the roiling black-and-gray wall of cloud extending as far as the eye could see. It bellowed with a discordant rage, lightning snaking through its insides like the pulse of a monstrous demiurge.

As they approached, the air became thick and crackly, the kind of stuff that made the hair on the back of Dorian's neck stand up. The storm had not merely been an obstacle: it had been a living thing, a sentient entity that had appeared to track their every movement.

"So we're really doing this, huh?" Brynn broke the silence, his voice light but weighted with concern.

Dorian looked back at him, his features inscrutable. "You can go back, Brynn. Nobody's forcing you to stay here.'

Brynn snorted, lips curving up in wry amusement. "You know, if I wanted to run, I would have announced a long time ago. After all, someone has to keep you alive."

Lira rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Brynn. If anyone's keeping us alive, it me. You'd all bleed to death in five minutes without me stitching you up."

Joran let out a soft chuckle but did not turn. "Just let's hope it never comes to that."

It was a thin varnish, their bickering — a paper-thin effort at repressing the fear that shrouded them all. Nobody wanted to be the first to admit it, but they were scared.

At the storm's base, what had been solid ground became slick, blackened mud. The wind shrieked about their heads, ripping at their clothing and threatening to throw them off balance.

Dorian held up a hand, gesturing for the group to stop. "This is where it stops," he said, his voice muffled beneath the shriek of the storm.

Joran peered into the swirling chaos, brow furrowed. "Where's the entrance? Spears said it was a tunnel."

"It's here," said Dorian, though skepticism nipped at the fringes of his will. Looking down, he examined the area for the hidden entrance Spears told him about

An eternity passed as they searched the vicinity, the storm intensified with each passing moment. Just as despair was creeping in, Brynn shouted.

"Over here!"

Clutching their flashlights, the group ran to where Brynn was crouched with his massive hands scraping away layers of muck and debris to uncover a jagged hole in the earth. The hole was small, hardly wide enough for a guy to fit through, and it led into a darkness that went on forever.

Lira stared into the void, her face doubtful. "This is the ancient passage? It appears like it's never been touched in centuries."

"That's because it hasn't," Dorian replied. He pulled a torch from his pack and lit it with practiced ease. It flickered in vain against the storm's howling winds. "Keep close and mind your step. We don't know — nobody knows what's down there.

They descended into the tunnel one by one, the air turning colder and heavier with each step. It was dark, dimly lit, the walls rough, uneven, held by hands unknown. A strange spiral of symbols writhed across the stone, flickering gently in the torchlight—they were a language older than anything Dorian had ever encountered.

"What do you think it says?" "What does that say?" Joran asked as he traced his fingers over the markings.

"Probably some ominous thing, like 'Turn back now,'" Lira muttered.

Brynn laughed, but there was none of his typical humor in it. "Wouldn't surprise me."

As they went further in, the tunnel started to open up, its walls giving way to a room-like space. The smell of earth and rot hung heavy in the air, and the sound of water dripping echoed faintly in the darkness.

A huge stone door, inscribed with the glowing runes that lined the walls, sat in the center of the chamber. It hummed with a strange energy, the kind that sent Dorian's skin slithering.

"This has to be it," he said, taking a few steps toward the door.

Joran frowned. "How do we open it?"

Dorian was perplexed, like an arrow being shot into his mind. They were vaguely familiar, a distant memory tugging at the corners of his mind. He reached for the cold stone, his fingertips brushing against it.

From the instant his skin touched a silhouette, the symbols burst with energy, bellowing in brilliance, until the whole place lit up in an illuminated glow. Just then, the earth shook beneath their feet and the door shuddered, creaking as it gradually opened.

At least I was now at the bottom of the stairs, leading further into the earth, beyond the door. The light coming from below was dim and otherworldly and threw long, dancing shadows on the walls.

Lira swallowed hard. "I don't like this."

"Me neither," Dorian confessed. "But we don't have a choice."

With that, he made the initial move, and they followed him out into the unknown.

They descended; the light became brighter, and bright, the glow of a great underground city unfolded before them. The architecture was celestial, a twisted sort of elegance interspersed with raw power. Polished-stone towers extended toward the cavern's ceiling, detailed carvings covering their surface.

But the city was not left behind. Figures darted between the buildings, their shapes shifting and flowing. The eyes glowed in the black, staring at the intruders with a predatory intensity.

Dorian gripped his weapon tighter; his heart raced. Whatever they had just entered, it was far more deadly than anything the council had trained them for.

And when the wraiths started to close in on him, he first thought that it would take something more than just your average courage to survive—but something told him he would have to pay a higher price.

The air in the underbelly city hung heavy with antediluvian dust and something far more rank, a pungent aroma that made Dorian's stomach turn. He could sense that he was without eyes, watching them, as they moved. All their instincts told them to turn back, but they had come too far to turn back now.

Something stirred in the far-off shadows, and Dorian's heart crashed. Lira's hand reached for the vial of healing salves at her side, without thinking, while Brynn's brushed against the hilt of his war axe, his fingers twitching with the memory of a fight.

"It's too quiet," Joran said, his voice a mere whisper, but the words rang out in the silence like a gong. "Something's wrong."

The air was thick suffocating with tension that Dorian could feel. He turned his gaze across the group, unwinding the fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. "Stay sharp. We're not alone."

They walked slowly, carefully, their boots ringing against the stone floor. Walls emitted a glow, lighting the way ahead them, and revealing the majesty of the cavernous city beneath — soaring stone spires, timeworn columns, and toppled statues frozen in expressions of god-like power over a rot and ruin of ogre and goblin young.

And then, one figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was a man — or at least a spoof of one. The had sharp, angular features, pale, near-translucent skin and unnaturally glowing silver eyes. He was draped in a black cloak, torn and ragged at the edges, as if a thousand spheres of life had collided with him.

Dorian's sword was in his hand in an instant, the blade shiny in the gloom. "Who are you?" he asked, his tone firm but edged with subtle menace.

The figure didn't answer right away. Instead, it cocked its head, regarding them with a bone-chilling detachment. "They who come seeking," it said at last, its voice low and rasping. "So few make it this far. Few survive the storm. You must be nuts to come here."

Brynn growled under his breath as his muscles tightened, coiled to spring. "What are you? Speak plainly."

The figure smiled thinly, as if amused. "Plainly? Very well." He took a step closer, his movements unsettlingly fluid. "I am the Keeper of the Fallen City. I protect what must not be disturbed."

Lira raised her hand, warning in her eyes. "Guarding what? This place? Who are you guarding it against?"

The Keeper's silver gaze darted to her, then to Dorian. "It's not what you seek, but what you disturb, that will bring the ruin of all." You are not prepared to meet all that is under. You cannot control it."

Dorian's hand tightened around his sword. "Then why bring us this far, you know? Why not just stop us at the door?"

With each step the Keeper took, the air grew colder. The chamber was colder than a moment ago. "Because you are here not by accident. You've been led here, led by a force far older and far more dangerous than anything you could possibly understand.'

The weight of the words settled around Dorian, the truth sitting heavy on his chest. He had heard of what laid below, of the ancient things buried in the world of forgotten secrets. But he hadn't believed them. Not until now.

"We didn't come here looking for trouble," he said, his voice low and measured. "We came here because we were ordered to. By the council."

"The council?" The Keeper's lips curled once more, this time into a sneer. "The very council that sent you to die, knowing this land is cursed? That the gods themselves will not permit it?"

Dorian took a step forward, refusing to budge. "What do you want from us?"

The Keeper's eyes gleamed with malice. "Nothing. I want nothing from you. But you… You want something. You want the power that comes with waiting behind these walls. But you will not depart with it. None ever do."

Dorian's mind raced. Power. He'd heard about the old power imprisoned within here—an artifact said to tighten the grip on the storm that had kept Linxdon apart from Xiader. A power that had the potential to turn the tides of war. And now, in this damned place, Dorian saw how truly desperate he'd become, how desperate his people had become. What they were willing to do.

The Keeper's eye turned distant, as if the landscape were continuing on stretching to the horizon, where shadowy tall silhouettes hinted The Forge's continued excavation. "You can try," he said gently, like a whisper. "But the cost of such power is much greater than you ever dreamed." It is not a gift — it is a burden. And if you are mug enough to think you can take it….'

"Then we will face it," Dorian said, his voice steady. "We've already come this far. And we'll finish it."

The Keeper's smile vanished, giving way to a mask of quiet sadness. "Then you are already lost."

The Keeper vanished with the flick of his cloak, leaving them standing in the center of the underground city, having only the echo of his fateful words in the air.

For a moment, no one spoke. The group froze, their bodies taut and hearts racing. Dorian's mind thrashed in the silence that followed. The weight of the Keeper's words felt heavy on his heart now, the reality of their situation sinking in. They weren't merely up against an enemy — they were up against something much more insidious, something that had been lying in wait for them.

Joran was the first to break the silence. "We should keep moving."

"Agreed," Dorian said, but doubt gnawed at him. He couldn't help feeling that they were walking into a trap, that for every step they took they were moving closer to something worse. But there was no going back at this point.

"Be alert," he ordered, his voice clipped with authority. "The Keeper was right about one thing — we're not ready for this. "But we're here, and we have no option but to move forward."

And with that they started marching deeper into the Fallen City, oblivious to the real darkness that awaited them further down. All they could do was hope they were strong enough to withstand it."